Groping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am star
The rapid clouds, the moon’s clean
Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed garde
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked s

you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they
are not.
those odd ones, not

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

My man is Black Golden Amber Cha
Warm mouths of Brandy Fine
Cautious sunlight on a patterned r
Coughing laughter, rocked on a whi
Graceful turns on woolen stilts S

WHAT guile is this, that those h
She doth attire under a net of gol
And with sly skill so cunningly th
That which is gold, or hair, may s
Is it that men’s frail eyes, which

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

I thought it would last my time—
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and f
Where the village louts could clim
Such trees as were not cut down;

“you know,” she said, “you were at
the bar so you didn’t see
but I danced with this guy.
we danced and we danced
close.

Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.

She squats, bare feet
splayed out, not
graceful; skirt tucked around ankl
Her face is lined and cracked.
She looks old,

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.